On Thursday afternoon, Patricia was waiting for me at the school gate.

She'd brought an audience. Three mums from Leo's class stood beside her, holding coffee cups and pretending not to listen.

“There she is,” Patricia said loudly. “Grace, have you found a flat yet? I hear there are some lovely ones above the chip shop.”

One of the mums laughed, then looked away.

“Patricia, not here,” I said. “Leo will be out in a minute.”

“Oh, don't worry about Leo. He'll live with his father. Daniel can give him a proper life. What can you give him? You've never earned a penny.”

The bell rang. Children began to stream out.

“You know your problem?” she went on. “You thought marrying a successful man made you successful. It doesn't, darling. It makes you a passenger.”

Leo ran up to me, his bag bouncing. He looked at his grandmother, then at me.

I took his hand and walked to the car without a word.

Behind me, I heard her say, “See? Nothing to say for herself. Never has.”

In the car, Leo was quiet for a long time.

“Mum,” he said at last. “Is it true? That you've never done anything?”

I started the engine.

“Ask me again on Friday,” I said.